Listening to Pallando's words, Erinhue understood why the dragonharp had absented itself from this leg of their journey. Agarak's sudden appearance and its reaction to the wizard were out of character and concerning. At some point he would ask Agarak about this although he knew he could only expect the inquiry to exact the same response as all questions about the harp's long existence prior to his own. Silence.

His extensive bardic repertoire did include a few stories about the Dark Elves, those who never answered the call to move West and to the Undying Lands. Like most everyone else he had thought those stories to be just and only that, stories. Conventional wisdom said that those of the First Born who did not make the journey out of the East had been over time, transformed into a an twisted, evi,l artificially created race, the Orc. The enchanted runes were evidence that those stories, and the so called Dark Elves were real.

Paul moved around the perimeter of the room, idly examining the walls but really just trying to expel some of his nervous energy. He kept getting distracted by the tune in his head but all the same the features of the room they were in began to make an impression.

It was not a very large chamber. The walls were very uniform. Really too uniform for a natural cave, and Paul wondered why miners would have bothered with such fine chisel work. He ran a hand along the wall. It was very smooth with the occasional sharp groove that caught at his finger tips. He glanced up at the ceiling. The invariable stone extended up to a disproportionate height above them so that it was almost lost in the gloom at the edge of their torch lights.

What an odd room. So not just a random alcove, Paul thought, but definitely prepared with a purpose in mind. Was the purpose purely the trapping of wizards? Paul rejected that notion, if it had been as a prison cell of sorts, there should have been guards or at least the chamber should have been harder to locate. He continued his examination of the rooms walls and ceiling, noting what appeared to be fine cracks spiderwebbing hear and there across their surfaces. He found himself passing in front of the passage they had entered through. The impenetrable darkness of the tunnel was unsettling.

Paul stopped, suddenly breathing faster as evidence began to sum itself up toward an alarming conclusion. How had they found this particular chamber after all? Bright glowing runes that had traced a path? And they had just blithely followed them! A wizard as a prisoner, but not concealed, not guarded? And they had rushed in for the rescue. A grim revelation cut through his reverie. How had they managed to capture Pallando? Why leave such a valuable prize unguarded. Sure, the chances of a sympathetic elf stumbling upon him this far east were remote, but then why leave a path leading from near the only detectable entrance to this very room.

If Paul knew one thing about Elves it was that they always were thinking six steps further down the road than you were. It probably had something to do with living forever. While it made the unexpected hard for them to cope with, it also meant they did nothing without good if obscure reasons.

The music in his head kept pulling at him, but for once he was able to ignore it. Something else grabbed his attention. The air his apprehensive breathing was pulling in was laden with the typical musty, damp, and earthy smells one would expect from such an environment, but there was something else in addition, just barely detectable.

Paul closed his eyes and let his olfactories analyze the new sent. Identification was nearly instant. Months of waking up early and preparing breakfast had prepared him for this moment. As he opened his eyes again a tiny drop of something off white dripped past his shoulder and “glooped” onto the dusty ground. Paul reflexively bent down and prodded the mass with his finger then raised it to his nose. Yep, there was no mistake, fat grease.

Several disjointed thoughts snapped together at once forming a complete and ghastly picture. He spun towards the group to shout a warning, and in that same moment the music stopped. To his horror, Paul realized that the soft music had not been coming from within his head at all, but from all around. Without an obvious source, he had just assumed the ethereal and bewitching melody had been part of some memory, but now he realized the truth. Several of the others were also looking around in some bewilderment.

“Its a trap!” Paul yelled. Behind him there was a dull *thump.* “They’re in the wa- argh!” Something impacted his shoulder and spun him around, nearly toppling him. Agonizing pain blossomed across his left side. Three more black shafts buzzed into the room from the tunnel, but Paul had already thrown himself to the side. The shaft in his left shoulder wrenched painfully as he hit the ground hard.

He looked up just in time too see a large chunk of the ceiling begin to fall directly towards the group of knights huddled in the center of the room. Other sections of the ceiling and walls high up were being forced out of tight fitting, grease slicked alcoves from behind and were tumbling down towards their heads.

Merry yet sinister laughter filled the the room as the trap was sprung.

Brondgast was not slow in protecting his apprentice. He rushed to him and gathered him under himself, holding Quill tight. He was better equipped to take the rocks and stuff falling from the ceiling than a human. "Keep close," he growled. Oof! OOF! he went, huffing and puffing as boulders struck him which would have killed his apprentice. He would be sore for days after this assault. "ENOUGH!" he roared. The Stone glowed brightly and vaporized the next big stone which was headed for them.

Meneldor had the same idea, but for Pallando. He gathered the wizard under him and then started flapping his wings to cause a wind which would deflect the boulders coming for the knights. He heard the laughter and berated himself for not realizing that the captor was around. "Don't be," said Pallando. "That dark elf is clever."

A dome of fiery red light surrounded the group of Knights and Pallando, shielding from the falling boulders. The dragonharp's main mission in this world was to protect the bard. In doing its duty, Agarak saved them all.

While the Knights were not in immediate danger of being harmed by the rocks and debris, the rocks and debris still fell. The pathway behind them was completely blocked. The group ran in the only direction left to them. They all ran deeper into the cavern tunnel.

After a few minutes, the Knights paused to take stock of their situation. Except for Paul, no one had been seriously injured except for a few scrapes, bruises, and a crushed finger. It took Telta some concerted effort to remove the black shaft from Paul's shoulder, and they all breathed a collective sigh of relief when it was revealed that the tip was not poisoned. Still, it was a deep wound and would take some time to mend.

"Well, so much for secrecy," one of the Knights muttered. "Whoever set up this trap now knows that it was sprung. The sound could probably be heard above ground, let alone all throughout the tunnels."

"True, but they also know that it means Pallando has been released. They are hoping he was killed in the trap, but they don't know for certain. They will be wary of a wizard, even one without his staff," Telta noted.

"That may be wishful thinking," Erinhue observed darkly. "I fear they have forced our hand by making only one available way for us to follow. We walk straight into the dragon's mouth."

Pallando nodded with a wry smile. "At least we will walk with both eyes open."

Akara had descended into the passageway behind the imperious elf, but the darkness was so profound that she feared she had lost him within a few twists and turns of the tunnels. She had no light of her own, having muffled her torch outside, and she cursed her foolishness as she stood breathless in the darkness. But then, as her eyes adjusted, she realized that there WAS a faint glow that painted the walls in front of her. As she walked cautiously forward, she saw the flickering of light grow wider.

This gave her a chance to scan her surroundings and her heart sank as she realized that there was nowhere for her hide. If anyone came into the passageway at that moment, she would be utterly and completely exposed. She would have no choice but to attack or flee back the way she had come. Either way, she felt certain she would meet her end. And for what? She did not even know what she had gotten involved with.

The passageway widened suddenly into three different directions. She stood still before each tunnel, straining to hear anything that might give her direction. Voices, slightly muffled, came drifting from the tunnel at the right. From the middle, she could hear the clicking of boots on stone. The left was completely silent, but she felt a strange, ominous darkness radiating from it. Hearing voices coming closer from the tunnel on the right, she quickly slipped into the left tunnel, hoping for concealment.

The voices were not in a language she understood. It was different from any other tongue she had ever heard, and she had heard many. It was beautiful, in many ways, but the tone in which it was spoken made it ugly to her ears. There was anger behind every word, and a bitterness she recognized despite not understanding the words themselves. She had heard many a man speak this way in the past---the voice was speaking orders, and the click of boots that followed revealed that these orders were being carried out.

A new voice suddenly entered the conversation, and this voice lacked the anger of the first. With it's entrance, the language also changed and Akara strained to hear them, realizing she could understand.

"I think, with a little more time, it will work," the new voice said.

"It would be better if it were sooner than later. Mithril Knights have been seen in Kuw. They are nearly on our doorstep," the angry voice replied.

"They will not look for us here. And even if they did, they are too small a group to be a threat to us. We have outlived far greater dangers, for longer than the Mithril Knights have even existed," a third voice said assuredly.

"Then why even bother with the woman? We should have left her where she fell," the first voice asked.

There was a pause, and Akara imagined that the angry voice had become angrier. When he finally spoke, she could tell she had guessed correctly, for his words were traced with poison. "Those of the younger race should not question the wisdom of the Eldar. We have walked this world before your people drew breath, and we will walk it long after your bodies lay in the dust."

Meneldor was deep in thought as he traveled with the company. He, who had declined the hope of the West to go with the Mithril Knights, now traveled underground with the rest. How he longed for the skies again, almost as he longed for his true home at Taniquetil. He looked to Pallando.

Pallando nodded with a wry smile. "At least we will walk with both eyes open."

"Indeed we shall, my friend and master," said Meneldor. He would always be grateful to Pallando for his help and counsel. They had something in common, namely a connection with Mandos, which set him apart from his brother Eagles. Where was Tempest? He wondered. Her remains were not found in the pit, nor anywhere else, so she must still be alive somewhere. But where?

Brondgast strode beside Quimrill his apprentice, hoping for some action soon. The caverns were perfect for the bear, as he chose to remain in his ursine form.

A sound, muffled but distinct, suddenly reverberated through the caves and Akara sucked in her breath sharply and steadied herself against one of the dark walls. In her bones, she knew it was the Mithril Knights somewhere underground too, though not near her. The thought both stirred her hope and made her afraid. A booming, followed by a crashing sound that could be nothing other than the crumbling of boulders against stone. She swallowed her hope and wondered if anyone could have survived.

But her heart skipped a beat as the voices that she had been listening too broke out in shouts and a flurry of activity.

"Someone has sprung the trap!

"You had better hope that the wizard has not escaped, or you will pay for it with your life. I told you we should have killed him when we had the chance," the angry voice hissed, and then began giving orders. The sound of rushing feet coming from all sides made Akara shrink against the walls trying in vain to find a hiding place. In their mood, they would definitely kill her first and ask questions of her dead corpse after.

But the rushing feet took the middle passageway and she listened intently as they became further and further distant. Now was her chance, if only she could muster the courage. "Give me strength," she pleaded with no one in particular. "Let me find her."

Then, with her short sword in her hand, she lowered her head and went further down the left tunnel until she was completely engulphed in darkness.